


Prison of Glass

by kalirush



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: On Earth for business reasons, Garibaldi runs into an old acquaintance.
Relationships: Alfred Bester & Michael Garibaldi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 29
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Prison of Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [urisarang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/urisarang/gifts).



Garibaldi’s knees hurt. Hell, his feet hurt, his hips hurt and he swore the top of his head hurt too. He’d been living on Mars long enough now that being back on Earth felt like wearing a lead suit that he could never take off. Even if he’d been born on this mudball, the whole place could go to hell as far as he was concerned, and he didn't care how good the pizza was.

Still, he wasn’t about to let the damn gravity win. He heaved himself up out of his chair. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced, as he headed for the door. No point in making his security detail’s lives harder by not giving them a heads-up.

He’d never been in Chicago before, and he wouldn’t have been in Chicago now, if there hadn’t been an Edgars Industries lab here. Particularly, an Edgars Industries lab that predated Garibaldi’s hostile takeover of the board. Their annual reports stank of a coverup, and Garibaldi had decided the situation merited a surprise inspection. Garibaldi shoved his hands in his pockets and put the lab out of his head. That was tomorrow’s problem. Today’s problem was dinner, and he’d already decided what he wanted.

Twenty minutes later, his feet were screaming, but he was standing outside a place called Li’s Beef with a giant roll full of gravy, meat and hot peppers. _Heaven_. His doc would disapprove, but, like the lab, that was a problem for tomorrow. He picked up the sandwich to take a bite, but as he did, he noticed someone out of the corner of his eye. _Hell,_ he thought. _Is that-?_

Time stopped. Everything spun and then froze, and Garibaldi found himself in a dark void with light shining in his eyes.

“Mister Garibaldi,” a voice said. It was a low, smooth voice, rich with meaning. The voice of Garibaldi’s deepest and most personal nightmares. Garibaldi twisted, grabbed Bester by the throat, and slammed him into the ground.

“You know better than _that_ ,” Bester said, off to Garibaldi’s left. Garibaldi found himself pinned in place, unable to move. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Garibaldi promised. 

“Probably,” Bester said. He cocked his head. He was wearing his old, now-defunct Psi Corps uniform- badge and gloves prominent. Garibaldi wasn’t sure whether that said something about Bester not being able to let go of the past, or about Garibaldi himself “Not today, though, I suspect.”

“Why are you here?” Garibaldi said, fighting against Bester’s hold on him. Part of him knew he had no chance, but he’d never stopped fighting before just because he couldn’t win, and he didn’t intend to start now.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence?” Bester asked. He shrugged, stretched his hands out, palm up. “You aren’t the only one who hears the siren call of a Chicago Italian Beef.” 

“I don’t believe you’ve met a coincidence in your entire goddamn life,” Garibaldi growled. 

But Bester just sighed. “Mister Garibaldi,” he said. “Someday, when you have the chance to make all the little plans that your squirrelly little heart so loves to make, I don’t doubt that you will find me, and trap me, and most likely murder me.” He shrugged. “But today, you are both unprepared and completely outclassed. So. In a moment, I am going to leave you. By the time you are able to move again, I will be gone. You will not be able to find me.”

“You’d be better off killing me,” Garibaldi warned him.

Bester stepped up close. “I know,” he said, sadly. “But whatever you may think of me, Mister Garibaldi, I was never an indiscriminate murderer.”

“You killed more people than I can count,” Garibaldi spat. “And did worse than kill as many others. I don’t know what kind of delusions let you sleep at night, but you’re going to be a hunted man for the rest of your sorry life.”

“I did what I did to protect my telepaths,” he said. “I won’t pretend that I’m sorry about it. But killing you, Mister Garibaldi, wouldn’t help anyone. Except perhaps my own sorry self, I suppose.”

Garibaldi was back in front of Li’s Beef, the sandwich halfway to his lips. The gravy ran down his arm and dripped off his elbow. Garibaldi tried to scream, tried to raise the alarm, but in the end he stood silent as a too-familiar dark-haired man slipped away into the crowd. 

_Be seeing you, Mister Garibaldi_.


End file.
